


Dynamic

by AquilaKate



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaKate/pseuds/AquilaKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The family side of Graceland, both good times and bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whose turn is it to pick up the kids?

Charlie knows better than to assume that the rest of her housemates will find their way home safely.

There have been _incidents_ in the past. A bar brawl that left Johnny in a holding cell and Paige with a broken hand. Jakes and Briggs like to think they're more responsible than the others, but they have no one to blame for that time they lost the Jeep in a game of Texas Hold 'Em but themselves. This is not to say that Charlie doesn't have her own fair share of past indiscretions under her belt. She has just as much fun in Graceland as the next drunken federal agent. But she's an angel compared to the others…

Which is why she starts to get restless when they stay out past last call on the night after a rough case. Because if it's not alcohol keeping them at The Drop, it's trouble.

Granted, it could be nothing. They could be holed up in the bar, with their respective distractions for the evening or with each other at a corner table, dragging out their final sips and trying not to think about the debriefing they'll have to attend in the morning. Either way, Charlie is just too _tired_ to go down there and find out. Almost twelve straight hours in a stuffy surveillance van on a scorching southern California day will do that to a person.

Luckily, she's not alone.

"Paul?"

* * *

There's something in Charlie's tone when she says his name that has him inwardly cringing. He knows that voice. She wants him to do something, and nothing pleasant. He's sure of it. "Yeah, Char?"

"Go get them."

It's convincingly veiled as a request, but Paul can spot the order through the deceptively pleading, hesitant tone. She already knows he's going to do it. They both do. But he'd like to be able to say that he gave a convincing argument in his favor. So he sits up further and eyes her sternly, ignoring her amused smirk for the sake of his pride.

"They don't need me to drag them home," he says firmly. "They're big kids."

Charlie nods, but Briggs isn't quite sure what the point is because she's certainly not _agreeing_ with him. "They're gonna be out all night," she sighs. "And Paul, I _really_ need some sleep."

"We could just go to bed, you know," he says wistfully, tossing an arm over her shoulder. "Pretend like we don't care what time they stumble through the door."

She shrugs. "We could."

They actually can't. At least, not after a day like this. Even Dale _"this-is-just-a-damn-house-we're-not-a-family-now- leave-me-alone"_ Jakes won't be able to settle in until everyone's back in their own beds.

"They had hard day. Worse than ours was," Charlie says lightly, again trying for conversational and ending up with something a little _too_ innocent sounding. Briggs is, of course, suspicious.

"They did," he admits.

"Mikey saw one of our FBI guys get shot."

"He did."

"Paige had every scumbag in that place all over her."

"She did."

"Johnny got himself a pretty impressive shiner."

"He did."

It's silent for a minute or two, while Briggs processes the fact that he just lost this passive little argument. He never entertained the delusion that it would turn out any other way, but it still stings. _Damnit_ , he's tired. Why does he have to care so much? Sometimes it sucks being one of the good guys.

"They're grown adults," he tries finally, weakly. "They know when it's time to come home."

Charlie gets a satisfied little grin on her face that Briggs can't be too irritated with. She can hear the defeat in his voice, and he's sure that it's music to her evil little ears. His arm flops to his side when she slips out from under it to lean against the other arm of the couch, and he wakes up a little from the loss of her warmth. "Yeah," she whispers, chuckling slightly under her breath. "But we know _better_."

* * *

The Drop is fairly crowded for as late as it is, but Briggs spots his housemates easily. Johnny's in the corner with a swarm of attractive women fawning over his injury like it's a cracked skull instead of a black eye. It's hard to tell because her face is obscured by her hair and her new friend's _face_ , but he's pretty sure the woman in the blonde surfer's lap is Paige. At least Mike's behaving. The kid's leaning against the bar, nursing his last drink, with his eyes glued to the corner of the bar and that amused little smirk that he tends to wear on his lips. Paul claps a hand on his shoulder from behind and gets a little too much satisfaction from the resulting jump. "They ditch you, Mikey?"

"They hung in there for a little while," he laughs, swigging the rest of his drink. "But I wasn't much fun after Abby left."

Ahh, east coast girl. Another headache waiting to happen. "I hear ya. Listen, go pry Johnny away from his adoring fans. I'll grab Paige."

Mike winces, staring at the other side of the bar, where blonde surfer dude's hand is slowly migrating towards Paige's ass. "I think that guy beat you to it."

There's a group gathered around the pool table that he has to wade through to get to his roommate, and by the time he makes it to the other side, he's had enough alcohol spilled on him to restock the bar. It makes him a little testy, so when he finally reaches the young love birds, all he can do is clear his throat pointedly. Paige rolls one eye in his direction, but then goes back to what she's doing without saying a word. He clears his throat again. Nothing. Finally, Briggs taps her shoulder, and Paige sighs as she leans back, one hand automatically trying to flatten her hair.

"Come on, Cinderella," he says, groaning dramatically as he helps her onto her feet. "Got to get you back to the house before your fairy godcharlie comes down here and turns your friend in to a pumpkin."

Because Paige knows that Charlie will remove her new boy-toy's hands from both her body and his, and Johnny wasn't actually planning on going home with any of those women _tonight_ ("Sometimes you just gotta plant the seed and leave it to grow, you know? Next time she sees me, she'll think of tonight and won't be able to control herself."), they're all pretty agreeable when Briggs says it's time to go home.

They take the beach route home because Paige can no longer balance on her heels and it's better to walk barefoot on sand than pavement. Everything goes somewhat smoothly until Johnny makes a dash for the ocean and the others follow, splashing and jumping on each other like little drunken puppies. Briggs sighs. Smiles. Nods awkwardly to the other late night beach goers who are watching his friends like they're the uncoordinated, unruly version of Cirque du Soleil. He lets it go on for a few more yards until Mike attempts a dive into the shallow waves and comes up spitting sand and salt. Then, he leads a sulking line of federal agents up the beach to walk near the rocks, Paige's heels swinging from his hand.

Water pools on the kitchen tiles as the three younger agents towel off. Mike is completely drenched, with sand sticking to his skin, but Paige is only damp, and her hair is completely dry. Johnny was somewhere in the middle until he jumps on Mike, intent on finishing a playful fight they started on the beach and soaking himself in the process.

"Hey," Briggs scolds. "Knock it off. We have a debriefing tomorrow. It's time to call it a night."

But he's not quick enough because the two younger agents are already hyping themselves up again, sliding on the wet floor and bumping into furniture. Paige watches gleefully.

They move into the living room, where Charlie is still waiting up, chatting with Jakes, who has finally made an appearance. The wrestling match takes center stage, but doesn't distract Charlie from the state of their clothing.

"Why are they wet?" She demands, gesturing towards the grown males rolling on the floor trying to pin each other. He's pretty sure this was not his fault, so Briggs throws his hands up helplessly and collapses onto the empty couch. His eyes flicker closed for a minute, concealing the _"I gave you one job_ " look that he's sure she's sending towards him. When he opens them again, Charlie seems to have moved on and is now focused on their other roommates.

She rolls her eyes and listens to them talk over one another, going on about how Paige went shot for shot with an off-duty bartender and earned all three of them more drinks than they could afford on a government salary. The champion in question is crawling up on the couch between Charlie and Jakes. At this point, she's bordering on sloppy affectionate, Paige's default setting on the rare occasions when she allows herself to get legitimately intoxicated. But while Jakes grumbles and gently slaps her hands away, Charlie grins and tucks the younger woman under her arm. "Did everyone have fun tonight?" she asks, though it's pretty obvious that they did.

"Hell yeah," Johnny sings, gaining some leverage on Mike and using it to pin him to the floor. "I'm thinking of making this black eye permanent, it was really working for me tonight."

"I can help you with that," Jakes offers sincerely, while Mike works on pushing Johnny off of him and peeling himself up off the floor to receive simultaneous high-fives from Paige and Charlie.

"Nice," Briggs praises. "Battle wound a hit with the ladies, Johnny?"

Paige snorts. "He had willing amateur nurses all over him. They just wanted to make it _all better_ ," she coos through her chuckles. "It was touching, really."

There's a Johnny-shaped wet spot left on the carpet when he sits up to swat Paige's leg in retaliation, and Briggs eyes it in irritation. The kid's lucky he's injured.

"How'd you explain the black eye?" Jakes asks because the truth was clearly out of the question. The bright-eyed, smug look that falls across Johnny's face tells the rest of them that it was a particularly effective lie.

"Motorcycle accident."

"Because you're a tough guy," Charlie adds slowly, waiting for the kicker.

Johnny grins. "I swerved to miss a dog."

"Because he's so sensitive," Paige sings. By now, he's leaning against her legs on the floor in front of her, so she has to bend in half so her lips can brush against his forehead. Johnny sputters and Paige cackles. "Get off me, woman! You still have surf jerk germs all over you."

This piques Charlie's interest and she sits up a little further. "Someone I should hear about?"

Paige groans. "You should have seen him, Charlie. Hottest guy I've seen in that place in weeks. And just when we were about to go back to his place, Johnny goes all big brother on him."

"He was wearing a puka shell necklace," Johnny whines. "I was only thinking of your reputation."

The others probably can't tell, but Briggs can detect the slight smile on Charlie's face while she's lecturing Johnny on minding his own business. She's got a secret soft spot for her roommates looking out for each other. Speaking of, Briggs has a not-so-secret soft spot for getting more than an hour of sleep before being dealing with some FBI bureaucrat who's questioning his case management, and he's not going to get it with these knuckleheads down here goofing off all night.

"Agent Mike Warren," he says mock seriously, identifying the least drunk of the bunch. "I have an assignment for you."

Mike looks at him, surprised, and straightens like he thinks Briggs is about to send him on an actual mission. "Sir?"

"A protection detail," Briggs says, nodding. He kicks at Johnny and nudges Paige to her feet. "Get these two up the stairs without incident. Any injuries are on your head."

There's some chattering over that, from Paige who wobbles and insists she can make it up to her room on her own, from Johnny who wants to see if Mike can carry him, and from Mike who doesn't want to be responsible for either of them. Jakes takes pity on him and prods Johnny up the stairs ahead of him, leaving Mike to wrangle Paige.

Once again, Charlie and Briggs are left alone in the living room.

"Thank you," Charlie says genuinely, as she teasingly tries to tug him off the couch.

Briggs grumbles and stands, letting her pull him behind her as she heads for the stairs. "Anything else you want me to do? Make sure they brush their teeth? Tuck them in?"

"Paul…"

"I'll go up there and read them a bedtime story if that's what you want, Char."

He dodges her swat and goes to his own room, where he lays in bed and waits for the quiet to signal that the others have settled in.

In reality, if Charlie hadn't asked him to do it, he would have made an excuse to go get them anyway. Because after days like today, there's nothing he likes better than coming home to Graceland with the rest of his merry band of misfits in tow.


	2. Don't Tell Your Mother

"Think hard, Mikey. This one's tricky."

Mike's eyes follow the contours of his housemate's legs up to her hemline, as Paige twirls on her heels. He focuses on the fabric at her hip for a minute before completing his scan and groaning, reaching up to massage his temples. "I don't know. I really don't."

"Try," Charlie urges, eyes sparkling from where she's reclined against Paige's headboard. "Come on. Rebelling socialite or pricey hooker?"

Eyes closed. Deep breath. He takes another look. The material lays flat against the top of her thighs, leaving her legs mostly bare. The neckline dips indecently low, and Mike focuses on pulling his eyes up to her shoulders, where thin purple straps press tight against her skin. "The prostitute?"

Paige blinks.

"Okay, is he doing this on purpose?" she asks, whirling to face the other woman with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Shaking her head and smiling fondly, Charlie sits up and gently raps her knuckles on the side of Mike's head. "Have a little more patience with him," she chides, before turning to the rookie. "And you. No one says 'prostitute'."

She crooks a finger, and Paige obeys, moving to stand at the edge of the bed so Charlie can fuss with the beading on the edge of the top. After a pointed deep breath, Paige meets his eyes and smiles with exaggerated patience. "Look at the fabric," she orders, plucking at the skirt. "It's _tight_ , not _clingy_."

"Means it's expensive," Charlie clarifies, winking and knotting a loose string before nudging Paige towards closet. "Go change. We'll try 'broke grad student or junkie' next."

All three heads turn when they hear a knock, but Jakes doesn't wait for a response before entering, nose buried in a case file. "Paige, didn't you bust this guy for possession a while back?"

She takes the file to look over, but now, Jakes is more interested in what was happening before he entered. "What are you doing to him?" he groans.

"Teaching him a valuable undercover skill," Charlie says innocently, but it's pretty evident that she's trying to suppress a chuckle. Jakes rolls his eyes and snatches both his file and their rookie and drags them both out of the room.

"What is wrong with you?" he hisses, tucking the file under his arm. "Why didn't you yell for help?"

Mike blinks. "I didn't realize I needed it."

There's a burst of laughter from Paige's room, and he starts to realize that maybe this was more of a fashion show than an undercover lesson. Embarrassment creeps up on him, and Jakes claps a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Happens to the best of us, kid. Now, go tell Briggs we need a boys' night out, and I might not tell Johnny I caught you playing dress up with Charlie and Paige."

* * *

He's not sure what he expected from boys' night out, but it wasn't a trip to The Drop, like every other night that week. But even so, Mike allows himself to be led to a corner table, while Johnny wanders up to the bar to order what he calls "manly drinks". When he returns, he shoves a glass of something that smells like paint thinner and probably doesn't taste much better into Mike's hands. Mike tries a sip and makes a face before setting the glass just out of arm's reach, so he doesn't habitually pick it up and actually have to _taste_ it again. Johnny rubs his hands together in anticipation. "You got them?"

Smirking, Briggs nods and pulls a deck of cards out of his coat pocket and slaps them on the table, right in the center. Poker? That's what they're so excited about?

"Winner drinks for free."

The others are looking at him with varying degrees of smug giddiness, probably certain that they were about to hustle the rookie. Joke's on them. He can't wait to see their reaction to being pulverized by the best player at Quantico _and_ his college fraternity. But instead of dealing a standard Poker hand, Briggs breaks the deck into four parts and passes one pile to each of them. Mike blinks, confused.

A quick glance through the cards tells him that they're all of one suit. Clubs, all thirteen cards, ace through king with everything in between. "What do you want me to do with these?" he asks, mentally scrolling through every card game he's ever played and coming up empty for one that started like this.

Briggs grins. "Get rid of them."

He nods towards Johnny, who flips the top card of his own stack into his hand and takes a long swig of his beer before getting up from the table. Mike watches uneasily as the other man makes his way to the other side of the bar, card hidden in his palm as he approaches an attractive blonde at the bar. From the barstool next to her, Johnny wraps an arm around her waist and leans in to mumble something in her ear. Something flattering if her face is any indication, because she gives him a wide, sparkling smile and gestures for his arm. When Johnny stands up, he flashes them a cocky grin and holds up his arm to display both the phone number written on his forearm and his empty hand. Eyes narrowed, Mike stares back curiously. "Where did-?"

The woman gets up from her seat, and as she walks in the other direction, the top edge of a Two of hearts is barely visible, sticking out of her back pocket.

Mike chuckles nervously _. This can only end badly._

"You expect me to..." he says slowly, as Johnny returns to the table, waving his clasped hands in the universal sign for victory. Briggs nods, seeming pleased to have thrown him off kilter. "Reverse pickpocketing. Give them away, any way that you can."

He takes one of his own cards and slaps Mike on the back on his way by. The others watch as he strikes up a conversation with one of the guys at the pool table. They must find something in common because they chat easily, like normal, casual acquaintances. When the other man goes to line to up his next shot, Briggs nabs his wallet from the edge of the table and holds it up for the others to see as he slips a card of his own suit, diamonds, into one of the credit card slots. He puts it back, and his new friend, who is none the wiser, shakes his hand good naturedly before returning to his game.

Applause welcomes him back to the table, and Briggs sinks into a playful bow before retaking his seat. "You ready for this, Agent Warren?" he asks, holding a card out for him to take. Mike just drains the rest of the poison that Johnny brought him and nods, taking the card and sauntering up to the bar. He gestures for the bartender to give him a refill, of something a little smoother this time. The drink goes on his tab, but he hands her a wad of folded bills as a tip. She smiles and tucks the money into her apron pocket, never noticing the folded Ace of clubs hidden among the cash. But Briggs and the others do, and their laughing approval makes this seem like a much better idea than it really is.

Soon enough, their entire deck has disappeared into various bags and pockets, and Mike should really _not_ be feeling as accomplished as he does right now. Until he realizes that they've all gotten rid of the same amount of cards, and there is seemingly no winner. When he brings it up, the others smirk, and he realizes that he's about to be taken for another twist.

"Game's not over, Mikey," Johnny says cheerfully as his blonde from the bar passes by their table. He reaches out and carefully plucks his Two from her pocket, slamming it down in front of his drink and starting the count. "One."

Mike groans.

* * *

"Charlie's gonna kill us," Johnny sighs fondly, eyes on Mike as he anxiously circles the woman with his Queen in her waistband. "She hates it when we play this."

"Doesn't just hate it," Briggs corrects. He's swirling what's left of his drink in the bottom of the glass, watching the scene unfold before him. When Mike boldly stashed the Queen earlier that night, the woman had been alone, with just a female coworker for company. But now, her very large boyfriend is hovering over her shoulder, his massive hand inches away from the playing card on the small of her back. "Forbids it."

She'd put a moratorium on the game after Donny got caught trying to retrieve his card from a female MMA fighter's purse and received the most arousing beating of his life. But since she's not here to stop it…

Johnny groans. "Are you serious, man?" he hisses. "I'm not going down for this. This was your idea. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure I was here."

"Relax," Jakes laughs, shuffling his cards and searching the room for the man carrying the Ace that he hadn't retrieved yet. "How's she ever going to find out?"

But the others aren't laughing because behind his back, the boyfriend has noticed Mike's attention on his girlfriend's waist and grabbed him by the throat, bending him back over the bar. Johnny frowns. "Like that."

Briggs sighs and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, already on his feet, ready to provide back up. "Gentlemen," he deadpans. "It's been nice knowing you."

* * *

Johnny goes in first because _someone_ needs to scout out the first floor of the house, and with Mike out of commission, he's got the least seniority. There's no hiding the bruises on their youngest agent's neck for long in sunny southern California, where turtlenecks are most certainly _not_ the norm. But, if they can get him out the door the next morning before Charlie has a chance to see him, they can pass it off as a case related injury and be home free. Paul's knuckles are another story, but as Zen as he claims to be, Paul hits people on a pretty regular basis. So, no red flags there.

Their spy returns to report that both women are asleep on the couch, a Discovery Channel documentary on designer drugs still playing on the television. This is to their advantage, as the noise will provide them with enough audio cover to slip into the kitchen and get an ice pack and painkillers for Mike, before retreating up the stairs into their rooms.

In theory, that is.

In actuality, Johnny trips over the abandoned remote and startles Paige, who instantly begins to stir. From behind him, Briggs shoves him towards the others and drops to his knees next to a yawning Paige.

"Shhh…" he urges, waving for Jakes to help Mike up the stairs as fast as he possibly can. "Go back to sleep."

She looks at him oddly before glancing over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of the ring around Mikey's neck. "What the _hell_ -?"

" _Shhhh!"_ Briggs hisses, glancing nervously towards the other end of the couch, where Charlie is still sleeping. "We played cards, and things got a little out of hand. Now, quiet. Before you wake Charlie."

He notices a little spark that lights up her face as she realizes how much power she's just stumbled into. Her lips tilt upward slightly as she presses her shoulders back and looks him in the eye, almost giddy that she once again has the upper hand. Paul sighs and cuts to the chase. "What's this going to cost me?"

As she stretches easily, feigning nonchalance, her neck twists and her eyes fall pointedly on the chore wheel.

That wasn't so bad. A week of extra chores? Nothing compared to what Charlie was sure to unleash if this incident even made its way to her ears. "Done," he says, sighing in relief.

Paige shakes her head and smiles. Holds up her hand with all five fingers stretched out and wiggling. He catches them with a focused stare and folds four of them back down. Immediately, three pop up, but her thumb stays down. Deadlocked.

After a few minutes of intense, silent staring, he presses her pinky to her palm. She nods, still smirking.

Three weeks of her chores. Not terrible, considering he has the manpower for it. One each for Johnny and Jakes. Maybe he'll take the third one himself and let Levi off the hook.

He settles between them on the couch, Charlie still dozing and Paige curled up on her side, watching the rest of the documentary with her head resting on the arm of the couch.

His knuckles are throbbing and Paige's sharp toes are digging into his thigh. But his rookie did a good job tonight. Made him proud. And they got some male bonding time in, with a bar fight as an added bonus. _So, overall, the night hasn't been a total lose._ Briggs glances to his left, where his friend is still snoring.

_Just as long as no one tells Charlie._


	3. Taking a Sick Day

He's already slept through his morning run, and if that isn't a sign of a bad day to come, he doesn't know what is.

When he first hit the snooze button, Mike was pretty sure that it was just a restless night's sleep and a late night with Johnny at the bar that was keeping him in bed. But when he's a little more coherent about an hour later, he realizes that there are other symptoms that aren't related to sleep deprivation at all. Sore throat, congestion, and a pounding headache that won't go away even when he turns the alarm off.

Badass federal agent Mike Warren is taking a sick day.

And he's sort of dreading it. Unlike every other sane, working individual, Mike _lives_ with his coworkers. And there's no one he'd like to avoid more when he's not at his best than his coworkers.

However, on the way down the stairs the next morning, he discovers that he's not alone.

Johnny is prone on the couch, moaning loudly into a throw pillow. Feeling too miserable to be too concerned for others at the moment, Mike nods at Jakes (who seems healthy, sitting in an armchair and bemusedly watching Johnny's dramatics) and moves into the kitchen, mostly ignoring the scene in the living room.

Mostly.

"Johnny's dying," he announces to anyone who's listening, which turns out to be just Charlie. Paige is perched precariously on a barstool, looking miserable with a thermometer between her lips and Briggs hovering at her shoulder. Mike grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and when the ache in his throat doesn't clear after he takes a swallow, he winces. "Maybe I am, too."

Briggs takes a long look at him and nods. "That seems to be the theme of the morning."

"Suck it up, Levi," Paige teases hoarsely, before Briggs pops the thermometer back in her mouth and pokes the side of her head. "Start over. Again."

"They've been at it all morning," Charlie whispers when she comes to rest a hand on Mike's forehead, smiling fondly, like she wouldn't expect anything else. Louder, for all three of them to hear, she says, "Comes in threes, I guess. Can't any of you keep your germs to yourself?"

Paige looks like she's going to whip the thermometer of her mouth again and defend herself, but a stern look from Briggs keeps it place. When it finally beeps, he takes it before she can and holds it out for Charlie to see.

"Sorry, sunshine," Briggs says, nudging her off the stool. "Looks like you're taking a sick day."

What happens next is an intense staring match that Mike doesn't quite understand the significance of, but eventually culminates in Paige doing what Paige does best (which is whatever the hell Paige wants to do) and grabbing her bag and keys off the counter, prepared to go to work.

Charlie heads her off at the door, wrapping a soothing/restraining arm around her shoulder and steering her towards the living room. "Go," she orders. "Wait with Johnny. I'll be there in a minute."

Paige stares back like she wants to argue, but Charlie stands her ground.

"Your cases can wait," she says firmly.

Paige goes (because no one argues with Charlie), but does so grumpily, with heavy footfalls and pointed sighs.

"Ahh, the teenage years," Briggs laments, ignoring Charlie's shove to his shoulder and failed attempts to shush him through her quiet laughter. "I miss our little girl, Char."

He wipes fake tears from his eyes, and Charlie rolls hers. "At least we still have our little Mikey," she supplies, playing along and teasingly pinching at Mike's cheeks. He squirms away, but she must have felt the heat there because she's suddenly not so playful.

"Speaking of," she sighs. "What are we gonna do with you, huh?"

He smiles widely, trying not to look as pathetic as he feels, but Charlie sees right through it and chuckles sadly. "Ahh, the face," she moans. "It kills me. Go, get out of my sight. Claim some couch space."

Like Paige, he obeys, but shuffles obediently without the theatrics.

Maybe there's a little more to sick days in Graceland than he thought.

* * *

Charlie moans and rests her forehead against his shoulder.

"Gonna be a long day," she sighs, and Briggs smiles, patting the back of her head sympathetically. "Long week," he corrects. "Or more."

There's an unintelligible, disgruntled sound that's muffled by his shoulder, before Charlie reappears, rubbing her eyes. "They're terrible patients."

Briggs nods, trying to remember times that they've been sick in the past. "Johnny whines," he says. "And Paige is just a brat. What about Mike?"

"I bet Mikey's a trooper," Charlie decides, after considering it for a minute.

He grins. "Always is."

Craning her neck to see into the living room, Charlie chuckles. "Look how sad," she says, nodding towards the pile of miserable agents on the couch. "Remind me of this later today, when I'm ready to kill them."

"You're not gonna care how cute they are when they're asking for twenty different kinds of popsicles."

"You don't know that," she defends. "I'm very patient."

There's a commotion coming from the living room, which makes them turn back just in time to see Jakes snatching the television remote out of Mike's hand and the FBI agent's pitiful attempt to recover it. Charlie sighs, and her eyes automatically follow Mike's hand as it grasps at air in front of him and comes up empty. When Paige tries to come to his defense, Jakes steps back another foot, and she tires out and nuzzles back against Johnny's side.

" _Chaaarlie_!"

Briggs allows his grin to stretch even wider across his face, even though Charlie looks like she's considering smashing her fist through the center of it. "No one is that patient."

"Laugh now," she grumbles, "but don't expect any sympathy from me when it's your turn."

He shrugs and turns his back to her to pull open the drawer next to the sink. From under the assorted junk surfaces an orange envelope that's been addressed to Briggs and saved for a special occasion. The look that Charlie gets when she realizes that he has _another_ ace up his sleeve is one of his favorites, and he's treated to a flash of it when he presents the envelope to her with a flourish.

"What?" she asks suspiciously when he pushes it into her hands. "What is it?"

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

She does. And the look of horror on her face will stick with him for a good, long time. "You're going for a psych eval?" she asks, jaw tight with disbelief. "Today?"

"I'm damaged, Chuck," he says somberly.

She blinks.

"I will damage you," she promises, voice dropping to that low, dangerous place. "And I won't even regret it."

_Maybe she should go for a psych eval, too._

"This is-what? Your first since you've been in Graceland? You're not fooling anyone!"

Snagging his keys off the counter, he slowly backs away from her, hoping to disappear before the reality of a day spent mothering their whiny coworkers without him really hits home. "You're lack of concern for my emotional well-being really hurts. I'm going to go cry about it in the car because…"

"You're damaged," Charlie finishes, shaking her head, her lips so tight that they've almost vanished.

Briggs winks, claps a hand over his heart, and slams the door behind him. From the other side, he can just make out the sound of Johnny's voice, hoarse and muffled by congestion.

" _Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarlie!"_

* * *

No one's willing to say with a hundred percent certainty that it's just a sore throat and not a stomach bug that's going around, so Charlie figures they're safest with toast until they figure it out. Wheat for Paige and Mike, white for Johnny, and nothing for Jakes who is neither sick nor helpful. He smiles widely at her when she comes in to deliver the plates, and she steps on his foot in return.

Because she is Charlie DeMarco and she doesn't have to put up with his shit.

Mike starts to devour his without hesitation, but the others are stalling for whatever reason, so she aims her narrowed eyes over her shoulder on her way out and demands that their plates be clean before she gets back. She's wrapping up the cord from the toaster and enjoying the first five minutes of alone time that she's had all day, when Jakes comes in to return two out the three plates she's just distributed. She has a pretty good idea who they belong to.

"Johnny wants peanut butter on his," Jakes says, smiling at her like he can't wait to see how she's going to react to this.

Charlie hates to disappoint him, but it's not an unreasonable request, so she takes the plate and starts to rummage through the cabinet for a jar of peanut butter. "What does Paige want?" she asks absently, trying to remember if Johnny prefers smooth or chunky.

"Um, to not eat it."

"She's going to be disappointed, then."

There's no hiding the gleeful look on Jakes' face at the prospect of Charlie chewing out one of his housemates, so he owns up to it and politely carries both plates back into the living room, with an extra spring in his step. Shaking her head, Charlie follows behind him. _Really? This is what it takes to get an extra hand around here?_

As expected, Mike has _not_ been a problem child like the others and has placed his empty plate on the coffee table before settling in to watch TV. Next to him, Johnny has managed to sit up and wait for his breakfast, and his moaning has subsided into pitiful sniffles that remind Charlie why she's playing mama bear instead of riding this illness out at the beach, blissfully unconcerned about her housemate's comfort. Paige is resting her head on Johnny's legs, leaning into his warm hand on her shoulder, eyes shut tight to block out the light coming in through the glass walls.

"Toast with peanut butter," she announces, sitting on the coffee table and holding the plate out for Johnny to take. The goofy grin on his face as he digs into his perfected toast makes it worth it. Charlie takes one look at Paige and loses all resolve to force the breakfast issue and instead rests her palm on the other agent's head, feeling for a fever and trying to get her attention. "Can't do it, huh?"

There's faint movement under her hand that might be Paige trying to shake her head, and Charlie winces. "That's okay," she says softly.

Mike is watching them closely, with his forehead creased in concern, and it's just so _Mikey_ that Charlie can't help but smile. She nods to let him know that everything's okay, moving to feel his forehead too because she doesn't entirely trust that he'll tell her If he gets worse.

"How was your toast?" she asks, throwing the kid a bone by acknowledging that he actually did what he was supposed to when his coworkers hadn't.

"Excellent," he says, smirking. Charlie rolls her eyes because it was just _toast_ and sometimes the rookie is such a charmer. She pats his knee, playfully flicks Johnny's head, and heads into the kitchen in search of some ibuprofen.

The medicine cabinet is a mess (she'd like to blame Johnny, but truthfully they all just sort of grab things and hope nothing falls out when they slam the door), but eventually she finds the jumbo bottle that she's looking for and twists open the cap.

"Johnny! What have I told you about putting the empty bottle back in the cabinet?"

"Briggs did it!"

While conveniently the only one not present to defend himself, Briggs most likely did _not_ do it. But either way, they could all probably use some, and Paige looks like she's about to keel over without it, so there's nothing to do but run out for more.

And leave her patients in the most capable hands available.

"I'm going to go get something to bring those fevers down," she sighs, planting her sunglasses on her face. "Jakesy's here if you need anything."

Jakes glares back at her before turning to intimidate his charges. "Don't even think about needing anything."

"That's the spirit." Her words are light, but the accompanying warning look that she shoots from behind their patients' backs makes it very clear that everyone is to be taken care of in her absence, or there will be consequences. Reading her loud and clear, Jakes pointedly adjusts Paige's blanket so it covers her bare feet and smiles innocently back at her. Paige doesn't seem to register the movement, and Charlie frowns.

"Half an hour," she promises. "I just need everyone to survive the next half hour, then I'll be back."

With those rousing words of encouragement, she's out the door.

And almost immediately, it all goes to hell.

* * *

Apparently, Johnny and Mike had a little tiff at the bar the night before that basically boils down to Johnny meeting a hot girl and Mike refusing to sleep with her friend so Johnny could go home with the aforementioned hot girl.

And while this would normally be of great interest to Jakes, but they're arguing about it _loudly,_ and working themselves up, and keeping Paige awake, and DJ would really prefer to not _die_ when Charlie gets back and sees them like this.

"Hey!" he barks. "Knock it off!

Did they just ignore him? Seriously, they're still doing this?

"Hey!" he tries again, and this time they turn to face him, waiting. _That's better._ "She probably wasn't that hot," he says reasonably. "Now, lay down and go to sleep or something."

Except, Johnny has photographic proof that she was indeed _that hot_ , and when he climbs over the back of the couch to get his phone, he accidentally overturns Mike's orange juice glass into his lap. Which does not make things better…

"Seriously, Johnny?" Mike complains, standing up and giving Jakes a good look at the orange juice stain on the couch that he's going to have to explain now. "Come on!"

"Your bad, Mikey," Johnny corrects. "Should have just agreed with me."

Instead of coming back at him (which Levi really needs to learn how to do), Mike just stomps up the stairs to get changed, leaving Johnny to sprawl out in his place, reclining in the orange juice stain without a care in the world.

Jakes sighs.

A sharp nail digs into his thigh, making him jump and swat Paige's hand away. "What?!"

"Shouldn't you be going to get that for him?" she croaks, eyes on the stairs where Mikey's just disappeared.

He narrows his eyes at her and tries to remember if she started sounding so sick on his watch or Charlie's because it sounds like a problem that he doesn't want to be his. "He has a sore throat, not an amputation. And are you gonna make it?"

She shrugs. "Hope so. Cross your fingers."

He will. Because the last thing he needs is Charlie coming home to a casualty.

There's a horrible hacking sound from the other side of the couch, and Jakes shuts his eyes tight, hoping to ignore the problem until it goes away. But, to no one's surprise, when he opens them again, Johnny is still coughing. Hard. To the point that his entire torso is being thrown from the force of his gasps.

"Stop that," Jakes commands sternly.

Paige's nail pricks him again, and he realizes he should probably do something. At this point, Mike has returned with dry clothes to discover his seat has been taken and is now standing next to the couch looking pissed off. "Hit him," Jakes orders.

Mike looks confused, but doesn't miss the opportunity and punches Johnny (who is still coughing) on the shoulder.

"On the back! What is wrong with you?"

With a little more force than is necessary, Mike slaps him on the back, finally understanding what he's supposed to be doing. Johnny continues to cough into his hands, unable to catch his breath.

He hears the door open and shut and Jakes hopes Charlie will make it quick, because after all he's been through in his lifetime, the last thing he deserves is a slow death. He closes his eyes again, and the coughing stops.

_Come on, man. Don't be dead._

He opens his eyes.

Johnny waves back at him, grinning around the rim of his fresh glass of water with Briggs at his side.

Jakes relaxes. He's been saved.

"What's going on in here?" Briggs asks, somehow managing to stare everyone in the room down at once. Johnny puts his water down and aims a hard punch at Mike's shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You know what that was for. Really, man? I'm over there dying and you're just gonna hit me like that?"

"If you wouldn't have-"

Briggs catches both their shoulders, and instantly (miraculously) they stop. Jakes looks on in awe. Paul Briggs may just be a god.

"You," he says, pointing at Johnny and then to the other couch. "Over there."

When Johnny gets up to move to his new seating assignment, the large orange juice spot is revealed. Briggs stares at it for a moment before flipping the cushion and banishing it from their view. He seats Mike on top of it before taking one look at Paige and wincing. Kneeling next to the couch, he gently shakes her shoulder, only to discover that she's _not_ asleep, just really out of it.

"Come on, kid," he sighs, winding her arm around his neck. "Let's get you some peace and quiet."

He groans theatrically as he hoists her off the couch after disentangling her blanket from Mike's legs and throwing it over his shoulder. Mike waves, but Paige is too far gone to play along and just rests her head against Briggs' shoulder as he carefully maneuvers them up the stairs.

Johnny grins and raises his arms towards Jakes, who swats them back down. "Never," Jakes corrects sternly. "Not ever. Do you understand?"

The younger agent burrows back into the couch, looking discouraged, and Jakes awkwardly pats his foot and drops the remote down in front of him. Accepting it for the olive branch that it is, Johnny perks up and flips through the channels rapidly, pointedly pausing on some of Mike's favorites before flicking past them.

Jakes looks around the living room and smiles. Paul has Paige upstairs, Johnny is contentedly watching TV, and Mikey looks like he's just about to drift off.

He's pretty damn good at this babysitting thing.

Things are still going pretty well when Charlie gets home, loaded down with bags that are full of more than a bottle of pills. She puts them down in the kitchen before coming in to assess the state that her patients are in.

"There were three earlier," she deadpans, crossing her arms over her chest. "You lost one."

Jakes waves her off and shrugs. "Misplaced. Couldn't have gone too far."

"Paul took Paige upstairs because Johnny was being obnoxious," Mike says helpfully. Johnny sits up to retort, and they're off again.

Jakes salutes Charlie (who is a saint, a freakin' saint), and retreats to his room.

* * *

Later, when everyone is medicated and resting in their own beds, Charlie and Briggs sit in the counter like they tell others not to and eat ice cream straight out of the carton.

"You came back," Charlie hums contentedly around a bite of chocolate ice cream.

Briggs shrugs and steals the carton back from her. "Course I did, Chuck. Couldn't leave you here by yourself all day."

She stares knowingly back at him, smirking like she knows some big secret. "You didn't come back for me," she teases. "You were worried about our poor, sick babies."

Somehow, a glob of ice cream finds its way down the back of her shirt, and she shrieks, jumping down from the counter. Briggs laughs and hops down next to her, throwing his arm around her neck.

"I knew you had it under control."

Not a technically a denial, and Charlie's probably picked up on that. She'll tease him about it some other time, but for now it's late and they're both tired.

And they still have to check on the kids before they can finally put this sick day behind them.


	4. Get Out Of My Room

His first thought when Paige appears in his doorway is that she's come to her senses and decided watch the movie with him after all. Not every selection he makes should be written off just because the rest of his roommates don't recognize a thrilling crime drama when they see it. His taste extends further than _The Town_.

Even so, no one takes him up on the offer to watch with him, which he only feels obligated to make to keep them from thinking about Charlie and Briggs too much. The two had left at lunch time for what was supposed to be a simple storehouse raid, only to leave Jakes a quick and cryptic voicemail telling him not to expect them until the next morning and to keep the others out of trouble. So here he is, providing a perfectly acceptable distractionary activity that no one is taking advantage of. Because he's apparently a damned babysitter now.

Which is why whatever has Paige standing at his door with that look on her face is _his_ problem.

Jakes sighs. "You coming in or what?"

Her eyes take in the bowl of popcorn and lowered lights, and she smirks. "Making a night of it?"

"Planned to," he answers, glaring at her as he tries to figure out why that's so amusing. Does he not look like the kind of guy that enjoys a movie night every once in a while? "You in?"

Paige shrugs, which is closer to a yes than he usually gets, so he rolls with it.

There's a stack of case files on the armchair next to the bed, so being the gentlemen that he is, he gets up to move it for her. By the time he turns back, she's ignored the seat he so kindly prepared for her and climbed onto the bed, helping herself to his popcorn.

"Hey, hey, hey," he scolds, trying to pull her off by her shoulder. Paige snickers, and wiggles easily out of his grip. "You think this is a freaking bed and breakfast? Make yourself at home in your own room."

Still, he doesn't push it (though he could have dragged her ass all the way out the door if he wasn't such a nice guy) and sits in the chair himself. He turns the volume up slightly, still watching her out of the corner of his eye as he finally gets back to his movie. It's clear that she has something on her mind, but if she doesn't want to talk, he isn't her damn psychiatrist.

Jakes is almost completely absorbed in the plot again when she finally gets to the point.

"Have you heard from them?"

He should have known.

"No," he says calmly. "But they're fine."

Paige rolls her eyes, clearly having none of it. "What turns a two hour raid into an overnight mission?"

"Follow up opportunity, unexpected complications, anything requiring inventory or additional paperwork," he guesses. "Maybe they hit the mother load. You heard the message. They're late, but they're _fine_."

"Yeah, because they would never lie to us."

That one makes him falter, but he doesn't show it.

"Watch the movie," he grumbles, before turning to take his own advice. She's still fidgeting, so he grabs one of the files he moved to the floor and shoves it at her, hoping she'll take the hint and entertain herself.

The rookie must have a sixth sense for when extra work is being tossed around because he's in the doorway as soon as the file leaves his hand. "What's going on in here?" he asks amused.

Jakes glares, silently ordering him keep out. One roommate invading his space was already too much. But Mike doesn't get the message and steps over the threshold, making Jakes groan dramatically.

"Out!" he orders. "Get out!"

The younger man has caught sight of the file in Paige's hand and is now moving towards the bed, eyes bright. Paige scoots to the side to make room for him and offers the bowl of popcorn so Mike can take a handful. Jakes yanks it away from both of them, staring in disbelief. Why is this happening to him?

"We're watching a movie," Paige announces, forfeiting the case file so Mike can use it for his own reading pleasure.

Without looking up from the report, he mutters, "Which one?"

"Maybe we'd figure it out if we all shut up and paid attention," Jakes says pointedly.

Mike shrugs, already passed caring. He's found a new project to focus on, and as long as it keeps him quiet, Jakes may just hand over the case permanently. Except that it doesn't because now Warren has a million and a half questions about this new find that Jakes doesn't really want to answer. He manages unintelligible sounds in response to the first round of inquiries, but eventually decides not to encourage the behavior and decides to ignore him completely.

Mike looks wounded.

Sighing, Jakes offers up the rest of the pile as a consolation, and soon Mike has at least six open case files in front of him, probably searching for connections and hatching schemes that are going to end up being a gigantic pain in the ass to execute. Probably.

"Are we having a party?"

That's all the warning they get before Johnny takes a running start and jumps on the bed, overturning the popcorn and sending Mike's papers flying.

"Johnny!"

Jakes slams the remote down and suddenly, all eyes are on him. He crosses the room, which has dissolved into complete silence, and pauses in the doorway.

"Pick it up," he commands, turning his back to them and taking deep, calming breathes as he leaves the room.

He's not even to the staircase when he hears them break into hushed, heated argument.

He is absolutely never letting them leave him in charge again.

* * *

He's still up, waiting in the living room when Paul and Charlie get home. Not because he's worried, but because he can't go in his own damn room, he has a movie to stay up and finally watch in peace, and the show that comes on after that isn't terrible, and he may have a use for what's being advertised in the infomercial that comes on after _that_. But he's the only one in this house that understands that sometimes missions run long and it's no big deal, so he's definitely not sitting up worrying about them.

But he does decide it's time to call it a night as soon as they walk in the door.

"Took you long enough," he complains, as soon as they appear. "You FBI guys always have to make such a big production out of everything. Guarantee, whatever you were doing, I could have knocked it out in an hour. Two tops."

"Did you miss us?" Charlie croons. "Is that why you're in a mood?"

Jakes blinks. "You want to know why I'm in a mood? Let me show you."

He leads the procession to the door of his room and scowls before he shoves it open, revealing the source of his irritation.

Mike is laying somewhat normally, with his head on the pillow and body straight and relaxed. Paige is half on top of him, her legs tangled with his, but bent in half so one of her shoulders is hanging precariously over the edge. Johnny is sprawled out over both sets of legs, unintentionally pinning his roommates to the bed.

All three are fast asleep.

With one hand over her mouth, Charlie silently cracks up. Her eyes begin to water from her efforts to keep quiet, and she turns her back to avoid Jakes unamused stare. Paul is shaking his head with a smile on his face as he carefully approaches the bed and readjusts Paige so that she's completely supported. She curls up and unconsciously burrows her nose into Mike's side. He sleepily tugs his arm out from under her and when he goes to rest it on her shoulder, he accidently smacks the side of Johnny's head. Johnny gives one loud snore and resettles himself, hopelessly twisting himself and entangling the others in the process.

"You'd be in a mood, too," Jakes says, shaking his head, surveying the shattered remains of his personal space and privacy.

Finally, Charlie manages to collect herself and goes to sort the situation out. She gently pats Mike's arm and moves a strand of hair out of Paige's face until four bleary eyes blink up at her.

"Charlie?"

"We're back," she confirms. "And we're okay."

That's all it takes for both to relax back to sleep.

"Come on," she whispers gently, patting a leg without bothering to untangle it in her vision and figure out who it belongs to. "Let's let Jakesy have his bed back."

But Jakes claps her shoulder and shakes his head. "They're fine. I'm not planning to sleep for a while anyway."

Paul and Charlie stare back at him in shock.

"They're less irritating asleep," he mutters defensively.

That's enough for Briggs, who offers to go over the details of their case with him over a beer. Jakes vehemently agrees. As he's pulling the door shut behind him, he sees Charlie kicking her shoes off and folding herself into the fray.

Jakes sighs.

He needs to put some serious thought into getting a bedroom lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Just a little unpolished chapter to dip my toes in and test the Graceland waters to see if it's time to jump back in yet. I'm a little rusty, go easy on me.
> 
> Here's what we've got floating around for the future: two little domestic scenes that I'm reluctant to post because they don't have a clear defining plot yet, two chapters about the same speed as the three I've already posted before this, and three kind of specialized chapters where each of the "kids" gets their turn in the spotlight (Mike, Paige and Johnny. Jakes kind of got his day in the sun here.)
> 
> All definitely started but also definitely not finished, so we'll see how that plays out.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read and supported! I'm so excited to get back into it!


	5. Mornings Can Be a Little Hectic

Maybe not the day he moves in but not long after that, Mike catches on to the fact that Charlie can be a bit like a dog with a bone once she sets out to do something. But he's just recently learned that she's much scarier when she hasn't quite gotten her paws on the prize yet. And it really sucks to be the one guarding it.

Which is how Mike gets drawn into a staring contest that he knows he won't win, seated on the barstools at the counter with Charlie before the others have managed to pull themselves out of bed. Charlie (whose instincts are far too sharp for _his_ own good) has gotten it into her head that he has a problem. One that he hasn't immediately brought to her for solving. So it is now her mission in life to drag it out of him.

When he cracks first and averts his eyes (which was bound to happen), she smirks and breaks the silence. "I don't know why you think you can get away with not telling me what the hell is going on."

She calmly takes a long sip of her coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. An outside observer would have a hard time picking up on the fact that she just sort of threatened him, but Mike knows better. Still, he plasters on his trademark smug smile and lets his chest swell with (probably unfounded) bravado.

"Nothing is going on," he promises, matching her tranquility as he drinks from his own mug. He nearly breaks his cover when he realizes that he absently added _all_ of the sugar during their staring match, and now his coffee is roughly the consistency of wet sand.

Charlie smiles. Probably she knows about the sugar but is letting him have this one. Small victories.

"You've been quiet," she starts, softly at first until he starts to protest and she has to raise her voice to talk over him. "You've been quiet! And pissy, all week for no reason. Don't try selling me that something isn't wrong. I'm not buying it."

Mike sighs. "Are you always this nosy?"

"I am not _nosy_ ," Charlie corrects. "I'm just entitled to know everything. Now, be a good little rookie and tell me already."

They're interrupted by the sound of someone coming down the stairs, and Charlie lights up, delighted to have back up. Whoever it is, they're almost certain to be on her side because this entire house is too damn meddlesome to not want to pry into his private business.

He hopes it's Jakes. Jakes doesn't care.

While he waits, he takes another sip of coffee. He'd momentarily forgotten about the sugar and coughs when he tastes it oozing down his throat. A heavy hand pounds on his back.

Briggs. Damnit.

"Paul," Charlie says sweetly.

"Do what she says, whatever it is," Briggs orders. He grabs the orange juice out of the fridge and frowns as he starts to pour. "Where's Johnny?"

"I haven't heard him up yet."

Briggs frowns. "He's supposed to give me an in with that Crenshaw dealer at 10:00."

It's already 8:30, so he goes barging back up the stairs the way he came. The others shrug, unconcerned.

"Just you and me again," she chuckles. "And I still really think you should tell me."

Someone pounds on the stairs again and Mike chuckles when Johnny leaps to the kitchen floor from the third step. Without turning around, Charlie says, "Johnny agrees with me. Tell him, Jon."

Whatever Johnny has to say, it's lost in a garbled mumble around the toothbrush protruding from his mouth. He squeezes himself in between the two and spits into the sink, making them both jerk back out of range.

"Ugh!" Charlie complains, looking horrified. "Johnny!"

He throws his hands up and shrugs. "What?! What was I supposed to do?! Paige kicked me out and locked the door. Mid-brush!"

"There are other bathrooms!"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "but I was coming here anyway."

No one takes the time to respond. Charlie chalks it up as a loss, and turns back to Mike, dogged glint still in her eyes. Johnny ducks behind the counter to get started on breakfast, toothbrush now drying in the dish rack.

"Briggs is looking for you," Mike announces, voice unnaturally loud from his eagerness to escape his current conversation.

One hand sticks up from behind the counter and slams a skillet down on the stove. "Probably waiting for the bangin' breakfast I'm about to make."

He slams another pan down on top of the first, and the others wince from the clatter. Charlie rolls her eyes. "I don't think that's it."

Johnny finishes digging in the cabinets and pops up grinning and brandishing a spatula, apparently past caring about what Briggs wants. He takes their pancake orders, and since it's not _their_ operation that he's delaying, they willingly give them. When Charlie returns to her staring, Mike gets up to make himself a new cup of coffee, almost bumping into Jakes, who stomps into the kitchen without acknowledging any of them.

"Good morning, sunshine," Charlie croons sarcastically.

He grunts and steals the coffee pot out of Mike's hand, draining the last of it into his own mug. "What's so good about it?"

Mike stares forlornly at the bottom of his empty cup. "Nothing now," he sighs.

While Jakes is still pondering whether or not that was a jab at him, Briggs comes down the stairs again, sighing in relief when he sees his partner for the day. "JT! My man. Let's go!"

"I'm all over it," Johnny promises, pointing at him with one finger and one spatula, before swirling his hands over his works in progress on the stove. "Just as soon as I give the people what they want."

"You wanna know what I want?" Charlie asks. "For Mike to share with the class what his problem is."

Johnny nods, completely ignoring Briggs' attempts to get him to hurry up and get in the car. "Yeah, what's up with you? You've been weird. Quiet."

"Thank you!" Charlie cries, pointing first at him and then back at Mike. "See? We've all noticed it. Now spill your guts so we can all sit down and eat in peace."

Trying to block them all out entirely, Mike decides to give up on waiting for the coffee machine to refill and pour himself a glass of orange juice. He dodges Johnny's enthusiastic pancakes flipping and spatula flailing on the way to the fridge, before grabbing the _community_ orange juice and sarcastically presenting it for DJ's approval.

As he pours, he hears Johnny patiently explain to Briggs that everything will go much faster if he simply picks a shape for his pancake so he doesn't have to spend time thinking up something new and exciting. The two of them settle on a pig ("A fine choice!" Johnny declares) and Mike turns back to the counter to find Charlie has teamed up with Jakes and they both have their glares leveled at him.

"What?" he snaps.

Somehow, they pull off a simultaneous eyebrow lift.

"It's nothing," Mike says firmly. "Or at least it would be if we could all stop talking about it!"

"Talking about what?" Paige asks as she swoops in behind him and steals his orange juice. He makes some half-hearted motions like he's going to steal it back, but by the time he actually gets around to moving towards her, she's chugged it down in one gulp. It never occurs to him _not_ to refill it when she waves it under his nose, which is sort of sad. "Is this about those asshole FBI guys that have been giving you crap?"

Charlie whirls to face him, Johnny jabs an accusing finger at Paige, and Mike knocks his head against the cabinet. Repeatedly.

"What?!"

"You told _her_?!"

"Damnit, Paige…"

She hoists herself up onto the counter and taps the rim of Johnny's frying pan. "Turtle please," she instructs, nodding towards his pancake mix. "And why would anyone ever _not_ tell me something? I'm charming."

"You'll take what I give you and like it, woman," he grumbles, but immediately gets to work on a meticulously constructed turtle.

"No turtle!" Briggs calls from the table. "We don't have time for turtles. If you want a shape, try a triangle."

"Let the girl have her turtle. How long could it take?" Charlie commands before turning back to Mike. "Michael. Do you have something to share?"

He sighs, looking around and very quickly realizing that all eyes are on him, Johnny holding out a plate with his requested pancakes. He accepts it and shoves a forkful of pancake in his mouth, using the chewing time to stall for something to say.

"It's just these guys," he starts finally. "I guess they've been waiting to move up to undercover for a while and they're not happy with how fast I got here. So they've been a little…uncooperative."

"They took credit for that coke bust he pulled off last week," Paige announces. "And they refiled his evidence so it looked like he screwed up."

"What?" Charlie says sharply. Mike consciously tries not to squirm.

Someone's phone rings and everyone stops to check if it's theirs. Mike looks up at the ceiling, and his shoulders drop in relief. "Oh, thank god."

"It's mine," Briggs announces, rising to his feet to take the call.

Johnny shakes his spatula at him. "Tell whoever it is you're not going anywhere until you've had this breakfast I'm slaving over over here."

"How long does it take to make a pig? They're round!"

"You wanna come over here and try to get this curly tail right?!"

Apparently, Briggs does not because he steps out to answer the phone, leaving the others to their interrogation.

"So what are we doing about this?" Johnny asks, absently gesturing towards Mike. "We taking care of these guys or what?"

Mike throws his hands up in defeat. At this point, the only way out of this is to go limp. To shut his mouth and let them argue amongst themselves. He stares directly at the skillet as first Briggs' perfected pig (curly tail and all) then Paige's turtle turn golden brown before Johnny flips them out onto plates.

Paige grins in thanks. "I tried to scare them off," she says through a mouthful of pancake. "But I'm apparently not intimidating enough."

"You're DEA, they don't think you can get them in trouble," Charlie says, still deep in thought. "But Johnny and I…"

"No, no," Jakes disagrees. "You can't barge in there and fight his battles for him. Kid's gotta stick up for himself."

Mike makes a choked sound of distress. "Slow down. No one's barging in there-"

"Hey." Johnny gestures for him to lean in before lowering his voice. "You want me to rough em up? Because I can-"

"No!" Mike shouts. "Guys, I appreciate the concern but I can handle this."

They're interrupted when Briggs stalks back into the kitchen, seeming much more agitated than he was when he left.

"Who was that?" Charlie asks, not doing much for her assertion that she's _not_ nosy.

"My contact at the DEA," he says seriously.

Paige doesn't miss a beat. She drops the rest of her pancake in the sink and grabs her keys, hurriedly wiping crumbs off her lips. "I should run," she mumbles, voice muffled by the last bites of her breakfast. "Lots of leads to run down. Don't know where I'll end up, don't wait up…"

"Freeze."

For a moment, it looks like Paige is going to pretend she didn't hear him and leave anyway. However, Charlie manages to pause her tirade for a moment to prod her back towards Briggs, who is standing there with his arms crossed, looking volatile. Johnny is watching delightedly now, sitting on the counter and squirting pancake batter into his mouth without taking his eyes off of the scene. Disgust is not a strong enough word to describe the look on DJ's face before he tears his eyes off of Johnny and turns towards Paul and Paige.

Briggs takes a deep, calming breath. "Tell me about the meth lab."

"I bust a lot of meth labs," Paige says reasonably.

"Yesterday?"

She frowns. "Why do you need a contact at the DEA?"

"The meth lab," he demands. "Start talking."

They decide to take their conversation into the other room, away from Johnny and Jakes and their eager stares. (Paige less decides and more follows contritely, which means whatever she's done is bad enough to make her worried about Paul's reaction.)

Mike looks concerned. "Should we-"

"Go down to headquarters and give the little bastards a piece of my mind? Yes, yes we should." Charlie grabs his arm and drags him towards the door, ignoring the fact that he's still holding his plate of pancake remains and empty orange juice glass.

"Ten bucks she makes them cry," Johnny offers as he polishes off his own breakfast and starts loading the dishes into the sink.

It's Jakes' turn to do the dishes, and he scowls at the syrupy mess he already has to contend with. "Twenty says she gets someone fired."

Together, they straighten up until the kitchen looks reasonably in order. When they're done, Johnny leans against the counter, rubbing his hands together and waiting for Briggs so they can head out for the day. Jakes is staring at the sink, contemplating getting a head start on the dishes when Paul and Paige re-enter, Briggs seeming calmer and Paige still mostly unapologetic.

"DJ, what do you have going on today?"

"Not much," he shrugs. "Storehouse raid this afternoon."

Briggs smiles, which puts him immediately on edge. "Meet your partner for the day," Briggs declares, nudging a scowling Paige in his direction.

"Am I being used as a punishment?" Jakes asks suspiciously.

"More of a guide," Paul admits. "Until _someone_ learns not to enter a meth lab without taking proper precautions."

Smiling widely, Paige sidles up to her new partner and puts on her best innocent face. "Who me?"

Jakes sighs and nods reluctantly, gesturing for her to follow him out of the kitchen. "When we meet up with my ICE guys," he warns, "we don't know each other. We live in the same house, we keep to separate floors, and I'm not really sure of your name."

"I'm going to tell them _all_ about my best friend DJ," she sing-songs, swinging an arm over his shoulders only to have it shoved back off.

Shaking his head, Paul chuckles softly, but frowns when he sees the look on Johnny's face. "What's wrong?"

"I'm always waiting on you," Johnny complains sadly. "Just once, I wish you would show some respect for my time."

Paul stares, face the perfect picture of incredulity.

"I'll be waiting in the car," Johnny sighs, pushing a plate towards him. "Eat your pig."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: One of my favorite chapters in honor of the new season! I’ve been flipping the follow up to this around in my head (where everyone comes home and reports on their day), but I may have already bitten off too much with my new Graceland project and the other parts of this one that I have planned. Still, it took a lot of twisting to end this with the three “teams” that I wanted to shove together, and it seems a shame to waste it. We’ll see. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope everyone enjoys season two!


	6. Mother Knows Best

She is sitting at the table, very carefully keeping her opinions to herself. Not giving any advice that could be mistaken for "unnecessary correction", or taking any innocent glances that can misconstrued as "judgmental staring".

It's not her fault that Paul hasn't learned not to cook in front of her by now. Charlie heaves a pointed sigh.

"You know, Chuck," Briggs says cheerfully, using a spatula to stir what's in the skillet. "I'm pretty sure shrimp stir-fry isn't a traditional Italian dish."

She hums in confirmation.

"Then your ancestors can't help you here."

There's a scathing comment to be made there, but Mike saunters past them at that moment, and she has a bone to pick with him, so Paul with have to wait. "If I were you, Agent Warren, I'd swing back around and take a look at the chore wheel."

"I did the laundry!" Mike complains, adjusting the flashy watch he borrowed from the wardrobe room for his cover tonight. Jesus, she hopes that he's dressed like an ass on purpose.

Charlie is unimpressed. "When it's someone else's turn does it get left all crumpled up in the dryer, or does it get folded neatly and put in your room?"

"It's clean," he says. She almost feels bad about what she's about to do, but then he tosses that cocky, condescending little smirk of his her way, and she gets over that real fast. While he's digging through the drawer for his car keys, Charlie pulls them out of her pocket and lets them dangle from her fingers. The smirk disappears.

"Charlie," he says carefully, like he's talking to a bank robber who's about to knock off some hostages. "I have some very important casework to do tonight. I can't be late."

"Then you should fold like you've never folded before."

They're at a stalemate for a minute, both staring at each other with Briggs watching in amusement. Finally Mike mumbles something into his shoulder that she can't quite catch and asks him to repeat. "I mixed everything together in two loads, and now I don't know what belongs to who."

Charlie sighs. "I'm assuming you're never going to do that again."

Mike nods, shuffling his feet, and she takes pity on him. "Bring it here. I'll help you figure it out."

Once he's gone, she chances a look at Briggs, who looks like he's barely holding back a laugh, still stabbing at the skillet. Whatever's in there is overcooked by now, she just knows it. If he would just let her help…

"Kind of harsh," Paul says casually. "We don't usually make a big deal out of chores."

"Kid needs an attitude adjustment," she informs him, observing the stovetop for signs of smoke. "If I don't do it, the others will. And they won't be near as gentle."

"Ah, so it's for his own good."

"Exactly."

He turns away to get something out of the fridge, and she stands on her toes to get a look into the skillet. She's not quite back in her seat yet when he turns back, and Paul rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what she was doing.

"We all managed to keep ourselves alive before we came here, Charlie. We can all cook." He frowns. "Well, except-"

"Paige!" Charlie says loudly, smiling unnaturally. "Hi!"

Paige looks at her oddly and glances at Briggs, who shrugs and stares down at the stove until he can compose himself.

"Hi…" she answers. "What's going on in here?"

"Briggs is ruining dinner."

"Charlie doesn't trust me."

She nods. "Cool. Do I look like a junkie?"

_Only in this house…_ Charlie gestures for her do to a spin move, and Paige complies, sliding on the wood in her socked feet. They rake their eyes over her outfit, looking for anything out of place or expensive looking that could damage her cover. Paige is an expert at this kind of thing, they all are, but sometimes things slip through the cracks. "Your nails," Charlie says, nodding towards her hands.

Paige glances at her perfectly shaped manicure and swears. She's halfway up the stairs when Charlie calls, "Bring me whatever you have and I'll fix them!"

Mike enters with a mountain of laundry that he somehow manages to balance in his arms. He dumps it on the table, and she barely has time to rescue her glass from tipping. Everything is clearly wrinkled from sitting in the dryer all day, but Mike is standing there looking all sorry and sad, so she doesn't have the heart to point it out. "What are you having trouble with?"

He holds out a crumpled white dress shirt for her to inspect. "Johnny," she decides, after checking the size. After making a trip to the laundry room to drag the baskets in, Mike drops the shirt in the red one and moves on. Charlie fishes it out and moves it to Johnny's basket, rolling her eyes.

"Is this your or Paige's?"

"Did you put this in the dryer?!" she demands, snatching the dress out of his hands. Sure enough, when she pulls at the fabric, it has obviously shrunken.

"Deep breaths, Chuck," Paul orders.

Though she's really not in the mood to listen to him, she does and reminds herself of the time Johnny ran an entire pack of gun through the dryer and they hadn't been able to salvage the sticky mess. This really pales in comparison. It wasn't even her favorite dress. "Next time, check the tag," she says reasonably. "Put it in Paige's basket. We'll see if it will fit her."

"Nice, Levi," Paige praises, knocking her shoulder into his before sitting down next to Charlie. "You should screw up more often."

Charlie smacks her hand, but Paul laughs and encourages her, so probably it did no good. The whole kitchen catches the smell of acetone as she scrubs a cotton ball of nail polish remover across Paige's nails, leaving some of the old blue polish along the edges to make them look messy.

There's a commotion in the foyer, and Johnny and Jakes make their way into the kitchen, jostling and shoving. Johnny grins at the horseplay. DJ looks genuinely irritated.

"Boys, play nice." She lets go of Paige's hand and gestures for her to bite her nails out of shape. Paige does so, flinching at the sensation.

"We're just messin," Johnny grins, stealing a shrimp out of the pan and scarfing it down. Paul jabs a hand towards him. _See, he likes it!_

"You've seen what he eats," Charlie dismisses.

Mike folds one of DJ's shirts on the edge of table and clears his throat to get their attention. "So, everyone's here…"

"Very good, Agent Warren." Paige applauds and makes a face like she's talking to a toddler that just showed off his counting skills. He lobs a pair of balled up socks at her. It almost hits the wet paint on her nails, and Charlie gives him a warning look.

"And I can't help but notice that everyone is wearing clothes."

Johnny stares, clearly not sure where this is going and looking a little disturbed. "What's wrong with you, man?"

"So I don't see why we're in such a rush to finish the laundry since everyone is already dressed."

"I'm not in a rush," Charlie corrects. "I don't care when you finish. But you're not going anywhere until you do."

That one throws him for a loop. He opens his mouth to respond, then snaps his mouth shut, looking to his other housemates for assistance. No one gives him any. " _Okay_. But see, you can't do that."

"Do you have a spare set of car keys?" Briggs asks helpfully.

"No…"

"Then it seems like she can do that."

There's some general mumbling of agreement from the others, and Mike gets back to work. Charlie smiles.

"You should really always keep a set of spares," Johnny snickers. He and Paige are grinning at each other in glee, clearly thrilled by this turn of events. Little shits. She'll have to remind them about their own run-ins her particular brand of tough love.

"Settle something for us," Johnny says finally, uncomfortable under Charlie's knowing gaze. "We can't decide who has a better shot with this gun lady tonight."

"She's smuggling the guns into the country illegally, Johnny," Jakes informs him. "This is an ICE case. It's settled."

"And then she's using them to kill people! That's FBI!"

That's a very valid point. Probably Jakes knows that, but still isn't giving it up. "It doesn't matter anyway. We have to go with who she's more likely to take home."

Johnny blinks, covering a disbelieving laugh with a forced cough. "And you think that's you?"

"Yeah, I do."

That sparks another argument that Charlie has no interest in. She finishes one hand and lets Paige tap impatient little fingerprint smudges into the polish before starting the other. Things get too quiet and she looks up to investigate. Johnny and Jakes are staring in their direction and suddenly she gets a bad feeling. "No," she says before they say anything. "Absolutely not."

"Come on Charlie," Johnny pleads. "You guys are women…"

"' _You guys'?_ Really, Johnny? That's what you're going in with, right off the bat?"

"…and it's for the good of the case! _So_ …if you had to…like, life or death…who would you pick?"

They want to play this game, huh? She crooks a finger at Paige and murmurs instructions against her ear. Paige plays her part perfectly and erupts in hysterical cackles. "You think?" she asks, crinkling her nose. "Really?"

Charlie actually hadn't said anything other than to tell her to laugh, but she plays along and shrugs, smiling widely. "Oh, yeah."

DJ and Johnny look like they might be sick.

"I didn't want see that," Johnny mutters, horrified. "Why did I ask that?"

Jakes grimaces. "I can't believe you actually chose someone."

Ignoring them, Charlie directs Mike to put the jacket he's holding in Paul's basket.

"And these?" He's holding a pair of lacy underwear he found in the pocket of the jacket with him thumb and forefinger, grimacing like they're toxic. The others hoot and holler, wolf whistling in an effort to embarrass her and Briggs into blushing. Charlie shrugs. She has only good memories of that night and she won't let them spoil that. "Also Paul's."

Briggs nods casually. "It's true."

That's what she loves about him. Any other man would have furiously denied it, but Briggs rolls with the punches.

Mike drops them in her basket anyway. "What about this?" he asks, holding up a T-shirt.

"Mike, that's yours," she sighs, shaking the bottle of clear top coat and turning back to Paige. "You're going after coke tonight, right?"

When Paige nods, she gets up to retrieve some powdered sugar out of the cabinet and gently blows some onto the sticky top coat. Enough to be seen from close up, but still hardly any. It'll make whoever catches it feel especially clever for having noticed it. Paige must like the look of it because she grins at her like she's some kind of rockstar of undercover work. This time, Charlie does almost blush. "You're done, go ahead."

Paige springs up and does a little dance, waving her hands around to help dry the polish. Johnny threads his fingers through hers and joins in, the two of twirling around the kitchen like the adorable little dorks that they are. Mike shakes his head and gives them a look. Charlie wants to defend them, but they have been pretty relentless today, so she'll let him have this little moment of superiority. It gets even better when he holds up a pair of colorful, cartoon boxers and she gets to proudly announce that they're Johnny's.

"No, they're not!" Johnny disagrees, Paige so low that her hair almost catches fire on the stove and Briggs has to shoo them away.

"Fine," Charlie concedes. "Then they'll have to sit in the kitchen until someone claims them."

Johnny stops dancing and snatches them out of Mike's hand, grumbling as he stomps up the steps. With her dance partner gone, Paige deems her nails dry and waltzes out of the kitchen, ruffling Mike's perfectly styled hair out of place on her way.

"Did you see that?" Mike complains.

Charlie nods. She did. "This gun lady, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say she likes guns."

Jakes nods. "Has a collection. Antique, new, custom."

"And you just need to get in the house?"

"Yeah."

"Don't try to flirt with her," she advises. "Work together. Talk up your own collection where she can overhear. Make sure she knows that she can beat it."

"She'll let us in to prove it," he finishes. "Thanks, Charlie. That's pretty good."

"I try."

When Johnny returns, Jakes grabs him by the collar and informs that there's been a change of plans. "I hate it when you do that without even consulting me," he complains. "Lack of respect, that's what it's called. And I don't appreciate-"

The doors slams behind them, so the others will never learn what exactly Johnny doesn't appreciate. No one's too upset by it.

Paul shakes his head, laughing. "Mikey Mike! How's it coming?"

"Why is there so much laundry?" he groans, staring at the pile and seeming genuinely perplexed.

Charlie shrugs. "Maybe because I've been unfolding it and putting it back on the table when you weren't looking."

Mike stares, stunned and betrayed.

"Are you going to respect the chore wheel from now on?"

He nods, still dumfounded.

"Go," Charlie orders, tossing his keys at him. He catches them seemingly by accident, staring at Charlie and not the keys. "I'll finish up here."

She'll also start over and put everything back in the washer so they actually have clothes that look clean this week. But there's no need to tell him that.

Mike's gone in a flash, leaving Briggs and Charlie alone in the kitchen. Once they're alone, Charlie can't stand it any longer and starts laughing so hard that she's not sure she'll be able to stop. Her rib cage starts to ache, and she leans against Briggs, feeling the laughter rumbling in his chest too.

"All of them," she says shaking her head. Paul nods and rests his head on hers.

"I know," he agrees. He realizes something and frowns, looking down at the pan of stir-fry. "Wait, who's going to eat this, now?"

"Put it in a container and write 'do not eat' on it. It'll be gone before morning."

He shrugs, and she smiles softly. "Or," she concedes, "I could try it. I'm sure it's delicious, even without my help."

Charlie knows she said the right thing when he grins and offers her a bite. She accepts and leans her head against his shoulder, ready for a quiet evening in.

_Yeah_ , _he should have listened_ , she thinks, smiling contentedly. _It's definitely overdone._


End file.
